


Whether Near Or Far (I Am Always Yours)

by awwcoffeenooooo



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Best Friends, Christmas Fluff, F/M, FitzSimmons Secret Santa, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 09:17:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9117082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awwcoffeenooooo/pseuds/awwcoffeenooooo
Summary: It's been two years since their last farewell, but then again Christmas always was a time for rediscovering what you've lost.(And who you've loved is no exception.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tardisandtea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tardisandtea/gifts).



> (for Fitzsimmonsinthetardis on Tumblr, who prompted "on opposite sides of the world, will they make it home for Christmas?" )
> 
> (title from The End of All Things by Panic! At The Disco)
> 
> Hello Natalie! It's so nice to finally unveil myself :D (insert Coulson's dark corner here)
> 
> I would like to apologize for this first chapter ahead of time - it's a bit on the short side, and it's mainly angst. But never fear - the next chapter is nearly ENTIRELY fluff. But I figured with such a prompt, the build up is always best :)
> 
> I do hope you enjoy! I'm just barely making the deadline by around twenty minutes, so you'll have to excuse my brevity :) Have a very happy New Year!

_"I need you to promise me something,"_

_He looks up toward the doorway, his hands stalling in their twisting and pulling. The wire he's working with nearly falls at the abrupt sight of his best friend._

_Her hair is wet from the shower, falling in dark tendrils around her face. She pulls the tie of her dressing gown tighter, biting her lip in an attempt to stall her tears._

_"Yeah, 'f course," he murmurs, watching her vulnerable form. "Anything,"_

_She offers a sad smile, her lips pressed tightly together. He tries not to focus on it._

_"Please don't hate me,"_

* * *

 

"Hi, Fitz," she breathes.

Her fingers shake as they cradle the pay phone, her eyes darting out over London's congested streets. Dusk is falling, the last of the sunlight slanting at odd angles against the breath-fogged glass of the phone booth.

Jemma pulls in a deep breath, a shudder escaping at the chill of the winter air. Her short hair falls haphazardly in front of her eyes, but she doesn't care to brush it away.

"If . . . If this is still Fitz, anyhow. I wouldn't know anymore, I suppose," she lets out a wistful sigh. "I'm sorry. If this is Fitz, just know that. I'm sorry, alright? I never meant for . . . This." Eyes welling up, she bites her lip and glances to the ceiling of the booth. "I probably don't have much time left on this call, so I suppose I should hurry."

She rocks lightly on her heels. "I miss you, Fitz. Two years is far too long - especially for best friends." Her voice pauses. "Are we even that anymore? A lot can change in that time. It probably has for you. So just - just know it hasn't for me." Pressing her lips together one last time, she continues. "I . . . Can't tell you where I am right now. But here's my number if you'd like to . . . Meet."

Jemma carefully repeats the digits, the crinkled  paper laying ominously in her gloved hand. "That's it, I suppose," she finishes at last. "Goodbye, F-"

The phone clicks off before she can finish.

* * *

 

_"What? I never -"_

_"Please, Fitz," her voice cracks, she sniffles slightly, but she holds herself together. "Promise me,"_

_His brow furrows with concern, and despite his inner misgivings, he nods. "I promise,"_

_Before she can reply, he's sweeping her into his arms. She's at a loss for a moment before tentatively hugging him back. He's her best friend - really, it shouldn't be this hard._

_So she inhales his scent - the smell of home - and allows her eyes to flutter shut and her fears to melt. He's her best friend. He'll always be here._

_"Thank you,"_

* * *

 

Fitz burrowed his chin deeper into his scarf in a vain attempt to block out the biting wind. His ungloved hand tightly clutched his carry-on, pace quickening with every gust of snowy wind.

_Is that even a thing?_ He wondered, his train of thought dropping suddenly at another particularly strong gust. Such a thing or not, he was getting the hell out of this parking lot.

Finally reaching the doors to the airport terminal, he allowed himself a pleased groan of warmth at the warm air billowing from the sliding door. He stamped his feet, brushing at his long coat in an attempt to remove any remaining snow before it had time to melt. He was only partially successful.

Fitz scanned the area quickly. The terminal was a mess, and he didn't need to check the flight updates to know his flight was grounded. He'd known that before he'd even but his car into the valet, but seeing the results were a different story entirely.

Only having his carry on, Fitz skipped quickly through security before finding a blessedly empty seat. He relaxed, watching people rush about through the terminals.

Slowly, his thoughts turned towards his mum and the text he had sent to let her know he was grounded. She hadn't replied, but then she rarely did. He just hoped she had got it.

Fitz slid his phone out of his breast pocket and absently flipped through his messages. His mum's was marked read. A few of his students asking yet again for the assignment details on a project. The usual voicemails.

He listened as voices filtered in and out through the earpiece, some friends and others professors, before the final file opened.

A breathy voice filtered through the speaker, worn and tired. "Hi, Fitz . . ."

And with that, the past two years came crashing down around him.

* * *

 

_He leads her to the couch, wrapping a blanket around her that smells like him, even if she knows it's unintentional. She burrows into it, offering Fitz a shaky smile._

_He smiles back, but it's too worried to be true. "Now what this all about, Jems?"_

_She hesitates, watching those bright blue eyes, and knowing what she has to say can only break them. Yet holding it will only crack them further, and neither of them are a risk she can take._

* * *

 

The stoop of the cottage was lit warmly by a single bulb, brightly colored flecks of light cast by string lights spattering the image. Icicles hung off the gutters, and a heavy blanket of snow covered the roof.

Smoke curled from the chimney much like her puffs of breath as Jemma stated up at the cottage for the first time in nearly three years. Her chest ached with memories of years passed, of laughter and warmth and Fitz.

She smiled softly at the thought, rubbing her gloved hands together. It had been ages since she'd allowed herself to reminisce, since nearly back on -

_No._ She cut herself off abruptly. _Don't go there._

Instead, she plastered on a false smile and rang the doorbell.

* * *

 

_"I got the job,"_

_She watches him blink at her, his eyes wide and confused. Her chest aches, but the pushes down her anxiety to watch his reaction._

_It plays out like an orchestra across his features, confusion, understanding, hurt. She's hurting him._

_"The - The mobile lab position?" He manages, searching her as if to find an alternative._

_She can only manage a nod._

* * *

 

The door swings open, and Jemma looks up into startled blue eyes.

She can only offer a weak grin. "Hi, Mrs. Fitz,"

The woman watches her for a moment, and Jemma watches her eyes moisten. "Oh, my girl," she whispers, and pulls her into a tight embrace.

Jemma goes willingly, holding the woman close and silently cursing everything up to this moment. She wishes things were different - that Fitz were here beside her, that perhaps they were together. Perhaps not in the romantic sense, though at this point she had decided that any way to have Fitz was the best way.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers, and it crosses her mind she's been doing that a lot as of late. Apologizing for _everything -_ her absence, her silence. For ever accepting that job offer.

The woman pulls back enough to give her a tight smile. "I . . . I'm sure you have a good reason. You always do, my dear."

She offers a watery one in turn. "You wouldn't believe me,"

"Try me,"

* * *

 

_She tries to offer a grin, a reassuring gesture of some sort, but it fails. They both know it._

_All too soon, she's packing her bags and offering one last farewell to their apartment, their lab, their life._

_She says goodbye to him._

* * *

 

"You won't believe me," Jemma repeats, accepting the cuppa Louise presses into her hands. The older woman settles back into the chair across from her, smiling knowingly.

"Perhaps not," she chimes softly. "But if I don't,  there's someone who will."

Jemma's gaze darts to the curtains, through whose parting she can make out tiny flakes drifting to the earth. Wind brushes against the powdered bushes outside.

She doesn't need to ask who Louise is speaking of. The knowing look in her eyes is enough.

"He hates me," she whispered. "I left,"

There's a beat of silence.

"Yes," Louise hesitated, "but you also came back, didn't you? To here of all places, nonetheless." She smiled sadly. "Your parents have been worried sick,"

Jemma but her lip. "I know."

"Then why don't you go to them?" The older Fitz gently covers her hand. "Not that I'm grateful to see you, but I'm sure they'd be far more so,"

"I'm different," she blurts out. "I'm different, and I'm damaged, and I hurt people. I'm not doing that to them."

Jemma regrets it the moment the words have left her mouth. It's been over two years, filled with silence and wondering, and it's not right to suddenly unload this on her. But her hostess says nothing, and she doesn't know if that's worse than the hollow reassurances she had been expecting.

* * *

_The cold bites her nose as she waits for her cabbie, the sky in shifting shades of grey._

_All too soon she'll be on a plane out across the planet, doing her job. Exploring. Saving._

_But her chest feels empty. He won't be there to see it - her. This is the end._

_But we'll stay in touch, she tries to reassure herself. We're best friends - we can't break that easily._

_But her heart throbs as she shuts the door of the cab, watching their apartment slip away amongst the buildings she once called home._

* * *

 

His flight, after a three hour delay, is long and silent. Fitz stares out the window for the most part, fingers pressed to his chin.

Two years.

He thought she was dead. It was the only logical assumption he could come up with - why else would his best friend of nearly a decade never return his calls? That was the only reason he could think. She always wanted a life of adventure, to save people and see the world while doing it. It had killed her in the end.

But no. His mobile sat silently in his hand, on it a message from a girl he had lost so long ago. He almost felt that if he clutched it hard enough it would ring, and then she would be there, telling him she'd see him once he disembarked, airplane mode be damned.

She wouldn't be. Be alive as she may, there was still no guarantee he would ever see her again. Never see her eyes light up with joy, the way her curls fell in the morning, the brush of her fingers with his.

They had only been friends, but somehow Fitz felt that they had been more than that. Almost there but never quite grasping that rung. He remembered the night she left, drowning himself in a leftover bottle of her favorite wine, smelling the last of her perfume in her empty room. He remembered the drunken realization that she wasn't his best friend. She was his everything.

And then the realization that could never happen. Jemma was gone.

Fitz stared out at the wing of the plane, eyes suddenly moist. He had wallowed for weeks, waiting for . . . something. Anything.

He went on two dates. He spent two dates reminiscing about an old lab partner to a new woman, one who told him to go find her.

  
And he tried. But she was gone - six months, without a trace. SHIELD was gone by then, every file dumped onto the internet. His eyes scanned every document that even came close to having a trace of Jemma, and nothing. Jemma Simmons - lost in action. Likely dead.

_No_ , he almost chuckled. _Not dead - not quite._

 

 

 

 


End file.
